Of Broomsticks and Bookworms
by Redclia
Summary: NOW FINISHED! An Oliver/Hermione story. It takes place when Oliver is still in school, but sometime not in the books.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I am in no way associated professionally with J.K. Rowling or her works.

Author's Note:  This is my first attempt at any semblance of a romance fic.  I don't usually write or read them, but I really liked G*Ness' O/H stories, so I decided to give it a whirl.  This will probably start out slow, and may end predictably.  If you don't like this, tell me, but please have the courtesy of being polite about it.  Thank you.

Also, Italics = thought.   

Hermione Granger sat in a corner of the Gryffindor common room, studying for her upcoming Charms test.  There was a Quidditch game coming up, and against Slytherin, and the team was holding a late-night strategy workshop.  Actually Oliver Wood was holding the workshop.  The rest of the team was nodding off or fooling around.  Harry had foolishly told the Weasley twins and Ron how to make paper airplanes and now they had their wands out and were zooming the airplanes through the air using magic.  Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet were dozing and Angelina Johnson was pretending to be engrossed in what Oliver was saying, but there was an almost-comatose look on her face.  

      An airplane shot through the air as one of the Weasley brothers – probably Ron and his broken wand – lost control of their plane.  "Oliver, look out!" Ron yelped as the plane swerved towards his head.  Oliver looked up and, displaying the reflexes that made him a good Keeper, snatched the airplane in mid-air.  

      "Seriously," Oliver sounded more than a little ticked off, "Quit goofing off. We can't lose tomorrow's game."

      "Relax Oliver, we know." Fred waved his hand at the Keeper. "We'll win."

      Oliver sighed. "I'm glad **you** are so certain about that."

      "Fine," George plopped down on the floor. "Instruct us, O Captain Gryffindor."

      Oliver shot him a glare and George subsided into silence.  The others either woke up or took a seat and actually listened to Oliver talk.

      In her corner, Hermione lifted her head from her book and paper to glance at the team assembled in a semi-circle around Oliver.  Sometimes she wished she had the free time – and the guts – to try and play Quidditch, but her strong point was academics.  Hermione looked the team over, and her mind unconsciously noted her appraisal.  Immediately, she skipped over Ron. _He's not a Quidditch player, but maybe when Oliver graduates… her mind said. The three Chasers, Katie, Alicia and Angelica, were blinking sleepily. __They're pretty good.  And they're girls. Another advantage Gryffindor has over the others.  They don't have enough girls on their teams.  Fred and George were only half-listening to Oliver.  Having heard these frets and game plans before, they were fiddling with their paper airplanes. __The Weasley twins. Hermione smiled mentally.  __It's a wonder Oliver can get them to listen to him at all, troublemakers that they are.  Harry was paying attention to Oliver, if only for politeness' sake. __Well, Harry certainly has his work cut out for him.  Being Seeker and all, and having to deal with Snape and the whole You-Know-Who thing.  As soon as her mind and eyes hit Oliver, Hermione felt an unbidden blush spread over her face and she brought her textbook up to hide her face.  _

      Reaching one hand up to her cheek, she felt it flare beneath her fingertips.  Why did this always happen to her when she looked at him? _I mean, I don't **like** him…right?  Hermione thought.  She sneaked another look at the Quidditch captain and her face flamed again. __Okay, maybe he's cute.  Just a little.  Yeah, Oliver Wood can be cute, but I don't have to like him…right?  Oh God, why does this happen to me?_

_      Hermione forced herself to look through Oliver as if he weren't there.  __Yeah, he's a good Keeper, a very good Keeper.  And he's nice, and chivalrous, and – I guess – he's good-looking, and he has a nice smile, and – oh no, I do like him.  She sighed to herself, wanting to be a little disgusted that she – Hermione Granger, student of the year – had a crush on someone.  Even someone as cute as Oliver.  __Great, here I go again; gushing over him like some little girl over a puppy.  _

      Trying to focus on something besides Oliver, who was currently going into his closing speech, seeming to have finally noticed that his team was practically asleep, Hermione closed her book and gathered up her scrolls, all too ready to turn in for the night.  As she made her way to the stairs going to the girl's dormitory, the Gryffindor Quidditch team and Ron stood up, most of them yawning.  Alicia, Katie and Angelica passed her with a sleepy wave.  Ron and Harry murmured something that resembled 'Good night' as they staggered up the stairs on the opposite side of the room.

            "Good night, Hermione." Oliver said softly.  _Did he just say something to me? Hermione felt the blush spread over her face again and muttered "Good night" in reply before running up the stairs, sure that he had seen her red face.  She left behind a slightly confused, but equally embarrassed Oliver Wood._


	2. Chapter 2

Ignoring the press of people around him, all chattering excitedly about the fast-approaching Quidditch game, Oliver made his way to the Gryffindor locker room to change.  All the while, he was mulling over what he had said the night before to Hermione.  He hadn't meant to single her out, or to even say anything to her.  It just popped out.  He could say that he did it out of pity; Hermione was always so tired and studied so much, she looked like she needed someone to say something nice to her.  He could say he did it out of courtesy; it would have been rude to just ignore her.  But he wouldn't – or maybe he couldn't.  

_I guess I always admired her – from an academic point of view.  __She was smarter than all of the others in her year, and smarter than a lot of people older than her. Oliver automatically put on his scarlet and gold Quidditch robes, ignoring the rest of the team as they filed in.  Let them think he was pondering Quidditch strategy.  That's what everyone thought about him.  Oliver Wood was **always** thinking about Quidditch.  Okay, so most of the time, especially before a match, he was thinking of ways to beat the other teams.  But there were times when he wasn't.  Especially recently.  _

Oliver knew that a lot of girls liked him; they looked at him and giggled and tittered in the hallways.  No one asked him who he liked, only assumed he was consumed by his game.  That was probably for the best – if he told anyone, it would spread around school like a wildfire through dry brush.  Oliver Wood, a seventh-year student, likes a third-year, and the know-it-all third-year at that.

At least he knew Hermione liked him.  He could tell that much.  It was in her face whenever she looked at him.  Like last night, when he was talking to the team.  She kept glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, all the while trying to study.  He almost laughed out loud. It was almost flattering to be something that could distract Hermione Granger from her bookwork.

For an instant, he did smile, and Harry looked at him strangely.  "Are you feeling okay, Oliver?"

Oliver nodded quickly. "Yeah…I was just thinking about something." _Someone._

Remembering that he was supposed to be giving the speech that everyone had already heard, he launched into a surprisingly short spiel about how they **have **to win this match, watching Fred and George mouth the words along with him.

"Okay, let's go." he finished, and grabbed his broom.  The others followed suit, and followed him out into the cold day.  It was foggy and gray, bad weather conditions for a Quidditch match.

_I can barely see the top of the goal posts from here. Oliver thought, peering into the gloom._

_            Then the Slytherins came onto the field, to a hail of boos and jeers from three-quarters of the audience.  Oliver stepped forward to shake hands with Captain Marcus Flint, before Madame Hooch's whistle blew and the teams scattered into the fog._

Author's Note: Okay, I know it's short.  I didn't want to make Oliver too hung up about Hermione – Quidditch is still (basically) his life.       ****


	3. Chapter 3 (or The Quidditch Chapter)

The ground below him was a blanket of fog, the sky above mirrored the ground.  He could barely see the Quidditch players, let alone the people watching the game.  Squinting into the grayness, Harry was immediately thankful for the water-repelling spell Hermione had put on his glasses when little rain drops began to fall.  He could make out his teammates, their bright red and gold robes dark burgundy in the rain.  Alicia, Angelina and Katie were spread out in the air, Katie holding the Quaffle.  Fred – or George – was swooping around her, and George – or Fred – was hanging back near the Gryffindor goalposts.  Wood, of course, was hovering in front of the goalposts.  Usually, Harry listened for the commentary of Lee Jordan, but Lee had more visibility problems than the players and had given up on a decent commentary minutes before.

      Harry was freezing, even with the thick Quidditch robes on.  It was at least forty-five minutes into the match, and he didn't know the score.  He made his way through the fog to Wood, and shouted, "What's the score?"

      "All I know is that Slytherin has zero points." Wood shouted back.

      Just then, Katie swooped in, her face flushed. "Just scored.  We have forty points.  Any sight of the Snitch, Harry?"

      "Not yet."

      "Better get it soon, or we'll freeze out here." Wood warned.

      Harry nodded and zoomed up into the fog, trying to get above the gray, to no avail.  To work off some nervous energy, he executed a few spins.  When he stopped, a glimmer of gold sparkled just ahead of him.  The Snitch!  A rush of relief flooded him.  Finally, an end to the game.

      He shot forward, and suddenly noticed Draco Malfoy streaking towards the Snitch as well.  _Not again.  Malfoy always manages to see the Snitch when I do. Harry groaned inwardly._

      But he was faster, and reached the little gold ball seconds before Malfoy, grabbing it with stiff fingers.

      Malfoy's face flooded with disappointment, and he dove back into the fog, pretending that he hadn't seen the Snitch and Harry hadn't caught it.  In the fog and rain, the game would keep going until Harry was able to find his way back to Madame Hooch to end the match.

      Still clutching the Snitch, Harry dropped closer to the ground, trying to reorient himself.  He spun and found himself facing the Gryffindor goalposts.  He headed towards Wood, holding his hand up.

      "I've got the Snitch!"

            Wood nodded and was about to signal to Madame Hooch that the game was over, when – "Oliver!" Harry shouted, a moment too late.  A wild Bludger pelted through the mist and slammed into the Keeper's right shoulder, almost jolting him off his broom and sending him backwards into a goalpost.

            Oliver hovered on his broom, his head lowered, for what seemed to be hours, but was only half a minute.

            "Oliver?" Harry asked concernedly.

            Silence replied.  Harry turned to see George Weasley returning from defending Alicia, who had the Quaffle. "George.  Tell Madame Hooch, I've got the Snitch. And Wood's hurt."

            "Are you okay?" Harry asked again as George sped off.

            When Oliver replied, his voice was constricted with pain. "My shoulder…I think it's dislocated."

Author's Note: Yes, I know… It's another Oliver-Quidditch-injury.  He will not be in mortal danger from a dislocated shoulder…he will not be in the hospital very long, and, since I don't know where this story is going, I don't know what significance this has.  Maybe none.


	4. Chapter 4

Something was happening, but no one could see what it was.  George had come down and said something to Madame Hooch and now both of them were heading toward the Gryffindor goalposts.

            "What's going on, Ron?" Hermione asked from her seat beside him.  

            He stood up, peering into the fog in front of him, and shrugged. "Dunno.  I think they've stopped the game though."

            Hermione stood up beside him. "Do you think they won?"

            Just then, Lee Jordan, who had been listening to something Madame Hooch was saying, picked up his loudspeaker.

            "The match is over.  Gryffindor wins, one hundred and ninety points to zero." Ron saw him lean back towards Madame Hooch. "I also have report of an injury to Gryffindor Captain and Keeper, Oliver Wood."  A wave of derisive laughter came from the Slytherins.  

            Beside him, Ron heard Hermione's miniscule gasp. "What happened?" she whispered, more to herself than him.

            Lee continued. "Wood has dislocated his right shoulder.  Nothing serious.  Thank you and good day." 

            Hermione turned to Ron.  Her face was slightly pink and she looked a little flustered.

            "Are you okay?" he asked her, looking at her strangely.

            "Yes, why wouldn't I be?" she replied, not meeting his eyes.

            "You look a little flushed."

            She brought her gloved hands to her face and looked at them as if they held the answer to his query. "It's nothing.  Just got caught up in the game."

            At that, Ron knew something was strange.  There had been practically no opportunity to get caught up in the game, as they couldn't tell if there _was a game.  But he didn't ask Hermione anything else, just watched her closely as they left the stand._

            _Now that's a weird one.  A sudden flash came to him.  Hermione had been acting a little odd last night.  She kept sneaking peeks at the Quidditch team.  Or rather at one of the Quidditch players.  Then Ron almost laughed out loud. __ Hermione likes Oliver Wood._

            "Hermione –" he started, but she cut him off.

            "Where's Harry?"

            "Seeing Wood off to the infirmary, I'd expect."  He watched to see her reaction.  She looked thoughtful for a quick second, then turned in the direction of the infirmary.

            "Where are we going?" Ron asked, already knowing the answer.

            She paused and faced him. "The infirmary.  We ought to visit Oliver, since he is Harry's friend."

            _Do you wish he were yours? Ron asked wickedly in his head.  He would never say that to Hermione's face, but whispering it in his mind was good enough._

            Everyone on the Gryffindor team was in the infirmary, as was expected.  Wood was propped up in a bed, a bandage around his shoulder, looking slightly peeved by all the attention.

            "You should go now, really." he was saying as Hermione and Ron joined the group around the bed.

            He looked at them as they came in, standing next to Harry. "More people."

            "How are you feeling, Oliver?" Hermione almost squeaked out.  Ron thought she sounded unusually tense.

            His ruffled look softened a little. "Fine, thank you."

            _Hmmm…maybe he likes her too. Ron thought amusedly.  __Wonder if Harry knows.  He glanced at Harry and stepped back a little from the group. "Harry, I need to talk to you about something." he whispered.  Harry nodded and stepped back._

            "What?"

            Ron let a mischievous smile flicker across his face before replying. "I think Hermione likes Wood."

            "Really?" Harry sounded moderately surprised. "I thought Wood liked Hermione."

            _Evil smile time. Ron looked at the two and grinned at Harry. "This should be interesting."   _


	5. Chapter 5

Note: Jeena Gorgona, Tony Silmari, Boxer and Rifka are completely random names, not JK Rowling's creatons (as far as I know).

Harry looked at his friend.  He didn't like the look on Ron's face.  It was a mischievous smile, which could only mean trouble.

            "Ron," Harry started. "Don't even think about it."

            Ron's grin became an angelic smile. "Think about what?  I'm just going to help Hermione and Oliver out."

            "By doing what?" Harry asked, knowing the answer to his question already.

            "By just playing Cupid a little," Ron cringed at Harry's skeptical look. "What?  I know what I'm doing."

            "Yeah, sure," Harry replied. "Just like the time you tried to set up – what were their names – Jeena Gorgona and Tony Silmari.  Now they try to avoid each other at all costs.  Each other…and you, Ron."

            "I was but an amateur when I set up Jeena and Tony," Ron replied, offended. "I know what I'm doing.  I set up Boxer and Rifka, didn't I?"

            "Ron, those were dogs," Harry said.

            "So?" Ron shrugged.

            "They could have gotten together without your so-called help," Harry replied.  Before Ron could protest, he said, "My point is, you shouldn't do it."

            "Shouldn't, he says," Ron rolled his eyes, then grinned. "But you didn't say I couldn't.  So I will."

            "I had a feeling that would happen," Harry sighed. 

            "Come on, Harry," Ron persisted. "Just think, when I get them together, they'll been extremely happy.  And it will all be thanks to one Ron Weasley."

            "And how are you going to earn this gratitude?" Harry asked, refusing to be drawn into Ron's vision.

            "You'll see," Ron said.

            "You should go now," Oliver was saying again, as Ron and Harry rejoined the others.

            "When will you be out of the infirmary, Oliver?" Hermione asked in an oddly high-pitched voice.

            "I'll be here for another day or so," Oliver replied, giving Hermione an equally odd look that combined confusion with an urge to laugh at her voice.

            Hermione nodded, her head moving as jerkily as a stork walking through reeds. "Okay, then.  I'll see you later?" she said, not meaning for it to be a question, especially not a question that sounded so hopeful.

            "Sure," Oliver replied offhandedly.  The Quidditch team, Ron and Hermione all muttered their good-byes and get-wells to Oliver as they left.  Once in the hallway, they each went their separate ways.

            "Coming back to the common room with us, Hermione?" Harry asked.

            Hermione shook her head. "No, I've got some reading to do in the library.  But I'll be back in a hour or so."

            As she disappeared down the hallway, Ron leaned towards Harry. "Maybe she's reading on how to make a love potion."

            Harry shoved his friend. "I doubt it.  Let's go and hear this brilliant plan of yours."

            In the Gryffindor common room, Ron went to his trunk and pulled several scraps of paper and a quill from it.  Harry looked at them, understanding dawning in his face.

            "You're going to write notes for them?" he asked.

            "Yep," Ron replied satisfactorily. "This is a plan that cannot fail."

            Harry nodded skeptically. "I'm sure you're right.  But how are you going to do this exactly?"

            "Well, you see, Harry," Ron began, "I'm going to give each of them a note from the other and have them meet at the same time somewhere.  How's this?"  He held up his handiwork, a scrawled note quickly written.

            Hermione,

            I need some help with homework.  Can you please meet me in the library tomorrow at 4:20pm?  Thank you,

                                    Oliver Wood

            Harry read it quickly, then passed it back to Ron. "You're going to have to wait until he's out of the infirmary, you know."

            "I can wait.  Here, read this one."

            The second note read much like the first, only the handwriting was neater.

            Oliver,

            I'm planning a party for Harry's half-birthday and I was wondering if you could help me.  Can you please meet me in the library tomorrow at 4:20pm?  Thank you,

                                                                                                            Hermione Granger

            "Half-birthday?" Harry asked incredulously.

            "It might work," Ron shrugged. "C'mon, let's write some more."

            Harry sighed, but took the quill and parchment Ron offered him and began to write.

Author's Note: Thanks to G*Ness, who gave me the idea of using notes to hook up Hermione and Oliver when I had writer's idea block. ^_^


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Good news/Bad news: Good news: I know where this story is going…Bad news (at least for me): It'll take a while for me to write it (I think).

Also, please forgive me if the characters sound more American than British.

An hour later, Ron and Harry had a small pile of notes to and from Oliver and Hermione.  Ron tossed another note on the stack and sighed satisfactorily.

            "We have enough notes here to set up the whole school," he said, grinning.

            "Please don't," Harry replied wearily.  He had given up writing plausible notes half an hour earlier and spent the last thirty minutes doodling on scraps of parchment.  He glanced at the latest piece of paper and saw a three-headed dragon, an armored flying horse, a witch that was inflated like a balloon and someone shooting an arrow through a cloud.

            "Help me put these away," Ron said as he picked up an armful of paper and dumped it in his trunk.  Harry picked up one and read it. 

            "'Dear Hermione, What's the difference between an alligator and a crocodile?  I have a test coming up and I lost my notes.  Can you meet me in the library at 3:30pm next Monday?'  Ron, do you really think she'll buy this?"

            "Why not?  It's a perfectly reasonable question.  By the way, what _is the difference?" Ron asked as he snatched the note and dropped it on the others in the trunk._

            Instead of answering, Harry sighed resignedly and helped Ron to clean up the rest of the notes. "Which ones are you using first?"

            "The first ones I wrote, of course.  It's only right," Ron replied.  He held up the two in question. "When Oliver gets out of the infirmary, it'll be the first thing I do."

            "Okay, how are you going to get them the notes?  You can't just leave them somewhere."

            Ron glanced at the window, where a familiar snowy-white form was perched.  Hedwig stared back at Ron, her yellow eyes unblinking.  Harry stepped between his owl and his friend.  

            "You are _not using Hedwig as your messenger," he said flatly._

            "There's still Pig," Ron replied off-handedly, referring to the hyper-active little owl given to him by Harry's godfather.

            The little owl zoomed up past the window, chirping loudly at the sound of his name, while Hedwig glared at him reproachfully.  Ron leaned out of the window, craning his neck to see the tiny dot that was Pig.

            "He'll be fine for Oliver.  Hermione will recognize him if he delivers something to her," Ron commented.

            Harry spoke up hesitantly, still reluctant to be a part of Ron's scheme. "What if he flies by really fast and drops it?  She might not notice which owl it is."

            Ron nodded thoughtfully. "I knew you'd come around to my idea sooner or later.  Welcome to the Matchmaker Club, Harry."  He held out his hand for Harry to shake it, but Harry avoided it as they walked down the stairs to the common room.

            "No thanks, Ron.  You deserve all the credit for this little plot," he said, half-sarcastic, half-serious.

            "Thank you," Ron replied with equal sarcasm in his voice. "Wood should be out of the infirmary tomorrow.  I'll give him a day before I drop off the first notes."

            "What notes?" a voice asked.

            Harry and Ron whirled around, startled.  Hermione was standing behind them, looking faintly flushed.

            "Um…notes," Ron answered weakly.

            "For Quidditch," Harry elaborated.

            Hermione nodded slowly, but her eyes still looked shrewdly at them, as if she didn't quite believe them.  She shook her head slightly, dismissing the suspicion in her eyes and motioned towards the door.

            "It's almost time to eat, let's go," Hermione moved impatiently to the door.

            "Sure thing, Mrs. Wood," Ron muttered under his breath as he and Harry followed Hermione out of the room.

To those who think Hermione is too young for Oliver: 

- Anyone seen Star Wars: Attack of the Clones? Anakin is five years younger than Padmé and he still hits on her.

- Lord of the Rings: Arwen is a couple thousand years older than Aragorn and they still marry and have kids.

- Actor Michael Douglas is older than his wife's (Catherine Zeta-Jones) father.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day seemed to crawl by for Ron.  He was right; Oliver was out of the infirmary, with a cautionary bandage around his shoulder and a warning from Madam Promfrey to keep off a broomstick for another day.  After a day of slightly-less-than-exciting classes, he was finally able to go to sleep to await the beginning of tomorrow.

            The following morning was cold and gray, much like the weather for the Quidditch match two days before.  Once again, Ron was impatient, and kept fidgeting so much that finally Harry asked him if had ants in his pants.  Not knowing about the Muggle expression, Ron promptly took off his pants and shook them out, much to the horror of Hermione who was with them in the Gryffindor common room.

            "Ron," Harry choked out between bursts of laughter, "It's an expression.  Why do you keep twitching?"

            "I can't possibly imagine why I'm like this, Harry," Ron said innocently, shooting a warning look in Harry's direction while pulling his pants back on.

            Harry responded with a clueless look in Ron's direction. "I can't either.  That's why I'm asking."

            The slamming of a textbook made them both jump in surprise.  They had forgotten Hermione was there.  She stood up, an almost angry expression on her face, red hair flying as she jumped up from her seat.

            "All right, you two," she said, "What's going on?  Ron, is this another one of your plots?"

            "I don't know," he replied, "Is it?"

            Hermione rolled her eyes and picked up her textbooks. "You tell me.  I'm going to study somewhere where you two aren't babbling about insects.  I'll see you later."  With that, Hermione swept out of the common room, obviously fed-up with her friends' antics.

            "Smooth, Ron, real smooth," Harry remarked in the silence that followed.

            "I got her out of here, didn't I? Let's get the notes," Ron bounced out of his seat and practically ran up the stairs to his trunk.  It took them five minutes to find the two notes that Ron had written first and another ten minutes to get Pig to stop zooming around and stand still long enough for Ron to get him to hold onto the note for Hermione.

            "I don't think the professors will take kindly to an owl flying around their school," Harry said.

            "Pig's not going to fly around their school, Harry, he's going to the Great Hall," Ron replied.  He peered at his owl. "Got that, Pig?"

            Pig hooted happily and pecked at Ron's hands.  "I'm hoping that's where Hermione went."

            "Why wouldn't she just go to the library?" Harry asked.

            "I hear certain someone is there right now that she doesn't really like," Ron replied.

            "Oh, you mean…"

            "That's right." (A/N: Don't ask who…I don't know…some made-up character.  I just need a reason for Hermione to not be in the library)

            Ron threw Pig out of the window and he and Harry watched as the minute owl disappeared into the fog.  Harry glanced at his watch.  It was already 3 o'clock.  One hour and twenty minutes until when Hermione and Oliver were supposed to meet in the library.

            When Pig came back a few minutes later, Ron gave him the other note and turned to Harry as to Oliver's whereabouts.

            "Probably outside, near the Quidditch goalposts, planning how to beat Hufflepuff in our next match," came the reply.

            Pig swooped off again, trilling loudly, acting as his own herald.  Even through the fog, the owl's loud bugling reached the ears of a lonely figure standing near the goalposts, staring at them.

            Oliver Wood turned as the little bird flew above his head and delivered his message.  The Quidditch captain caught the scrap of parchment as it floated to the ground and held it up, reading it.

            "Half-birthday?" he said aloud, "I thought Harry's half-birthday was last month."

            Nevertheless, he checked the time on the note and pocketed it before resuming his mental Quidditch match.   


	8. Chapter 8

Author's Note: This chapter is too short for my liking, but my writer's block is preventing me from making it any longer.  Sorry.

At 4:20 that afternoon, Hermione was seated a table in the library, reading one of her many textbooks and looking for Oliver out of the corner of her eye.  He came in a few minutes later, his hair windblown and with leaves clinging to his robes.  Spotting her, he made his way to the table.  She stood up as he came nearer, meaning to greet him, but he dropped a scrap of parchment on the table.

            "You didn't write this, did you?" he asked before she could say anything.

            She looked at it.  The handwriting was definitely not hers. "Wasn't Harry's half-birthday last month?"

            He laughed. "I take it you didn't."

            She responded with a shy grin and pulled out her own note. "And you didn't write this either."

            He shook his head. "I have a feeling someone's trying to set us up."

            Hermione hid her smile with a frustrated sigh and sat down again.  Oliver slid into the seat across from her.

            "So, why don't we play along?" he asked, a sly grin on his face.

            She looked at him quickly and the blood rushed to her cheeks when she noticed he was actually smiling at her. "How?"

_            He leaned back and casually scanned the room, before turning back to her. "Is that Ron Weasley's handwriting?"  He tapped the note she had received._

            She looked at it more closely. "Yeah, how did you know?"

            "Don't look up," he warned, "but there are two very familiar faces watching us from behind some shelves."

            "Ron and Harry," Hermione replied instantly. 

            He nodded, a barely perceptible movement that she was sure Ron and Harry didn't see. 

            "Let's plan a half-birthday party," Oliver said brightly.

            Hermione laughed. "Ron should've put the same reason on the notes.  With different reasons, it's even easier to figure out that neither of us wrote the notes."

            Oliver took out a quill of his own and flipped over one of the notes. "What should we do for Harry's party?"

            "Are we really having a party?" Hermione asked unsurely.

            "Nope, we're just acting like it," Oliver replied. "Now, what should we do for Harry's party?"

            As Hermione leaned forward and started making suggestions, Ron and Harry moved quietly towards the door.  Ron was beaming. 

            "I told you it would work," he said triumphantly. "Look at how close they are."

            Harry looked back at the pair doubtfully. "I'm not so sure, Ron.  I think they figured out your little ploy."

            "I don't think so.  They probably don't notice anything besides the person across from them." Ron disagreed.

            Harry rolled his eyes, but Ron didn't notice.  _Oh well, Harry thought. __Let Ron keep his delusions of success. _

              _I mean, what harm could come of it?_


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Sorry it took a while…I went on vacation for a couple weeks.  I think this might go on a little longer than expected…oops

Oliver could see Hermione visibly relax as soon as Ron and Harry left.  She had seemed to be strung tighter than an archer's bowstring when they were being watched.  Every movement had caught her eyes, every movement making her twitch and shift nervously.  He smiled hesitantly at her, relieved more than he thought he would be at the departure of Ron and Harry.  A furious blush exploded in her cheeks instantly and he almost laughed.

            "Hermione, you're blushing," he remarked softly.

            She jumped again. "What?" her voice was higher than it was normally, her attention obviously elsewhere.

            This time he did laugh. "Is something wrong?"

            "No…" she started.

            "Are you feeling okay?" he asked, concerned.  He reached out to touch her forehead to see if she had a fever, and she recoiled.

            "No, no, Oliver, I'm fine," she replied, her answer too quick to have been honest.

            His raised eyebrows showed his skepticism, but he sighed and sat back. "If you say so."

            She cleared her throat awkwardly. "If we're done, Oliver, I really should get back to studying."

            "Of course," he said, offering her another shy smile, suddenly self-conscious for reasons unknown.

            Hermione stood up, again too quickly, almost knocking the chair over, and nodded cordially. "Well, I'll see you later, Oliver."

            He nodded in return. "I guess so."  And then he left, taking the parchment with him, undoubtedly back to the world of Quidditch.

            Hermione watched him go, an ache in her chest ebbing away slowly.  Suddenly, without Oliver around, it was a lot easier for her to breathe.  She sat down again, gingerly, as if the chair might jump away from under her.  She opened her Transfiguration book, eyes scanning the pages.  All the while, one panicked thought ran through her head.

            _He knows.  He knows.  He knows.  He knows._

            She sighed restlessly and flipped the page. _He knows! _

            Frustrated, she slammed the book shut, earning a glare from a nearby Ravenclaw.  She swept her books and the parchment note into her arms and practically flew from the library, back to the Gryffindor common room.  She found Harry and Ron absorbed in a game of wizard's chess, though Ron looked up hopefully when she walked into the room.

            She couldn't resist smiling smugly at him when she saw the wildly questioning look on his face.

            "Where have _you been?" Ron asked._

            "Studying in the Great Hall," she replied.

            "See anyone down there?"

            "People."

            Ron sighed. "Anyone specific?"

            "No," she answered off-handedly.

            "Ron," Harry interrupted. "Checkmate."

            Ron turned back to his game, astonished.  Hermione turned and walked up to the girl's dormitory and went to the window at the end of the room.  Clouds obscured her view of the ground below, but there was a window of light above.  She sighed and tried to clear her mind of all thoughts concerning Oliver Wood.  Her concentration was broken by a barn owl that rose out of the fog, brown and white wings cutting through the clouds.  It winged its way up to the window and landed on the sill, hooting softly.  Hermione took the rolled scroll from its talon and it dove back into the sky.

            More than slightly confused, Hermione unrolled the parchment.  It was a note from Oliver.  _So much for clearing my mind._

Hermione.  I have a feeling we'll be getting more letters from Ron and Harry in the next couple weeks or so.  It would be fun to play along, but if you don't want to, tell me.  See you later, Oliver.

_Playing along would be fun.  Besides, it would give me a chance to see Oliver more often.  Instantly after that thought, she simultaneously winced and blushed. __I have got to stop thinking like that.  It's embarrassing._

            She turned from the window and a thought struck her.  What if Ron just kept creating more and more notes, and this went on for the rest of the year?  What if she couldn't keep up her indifferent, amused attitude towards his scheme?  What if – _For God's sake, cut it out, Hermione! _ She shook her head furiously, as if by doing that, she could rid herself of all of her Oliver problems.  Finally, she sighed loudly and lay down on her bed and was surprised to find that she was tired.  Within a few minutes, she was asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: Okay, this story wasn't really going anywhere, so the ending will be kinda quick compared to the rest of the story.  Just a warning.

Another day, another note.  This time the meeting place was the Quidditch pitch.  Hermione was there early, anxiously twisting her hands together and pacing back and forth.

            An amused voice behind her made her jump. "Good morning Hermione."

            She whirled to see Oliver standing there, arms crossed over his chest.  He smiled and held out his note.

            "So, where do you think they're hiding today?" he asked as she took his note and put it with her own.

            She shrugged, trying to ignore the bright eyes that were studying her face. "I have no clue."

            A hint of a smile crossed his face. "Why are we here today?"

            "Huh?"

            "The note, Hermione," Oliver replied. "What does yours say?"

            "Supposedly you don't know the difference between an alligator and a crocodile."

            "Snout's longer in a croc, right?"

            "Yeah," she answered.

            They both heard muffled voices coming the bushes nearby, but they ignored them.  The shaking of leaves and branches caused them to turn for an instant before they both quickly looked away, not wanting to ruin Ron's "success."

            Weeks passed in this way, with new notes every other day, until one Saturday, Oliver and Hermione found themselves standing in a hallway, leaning against the wall, not looking at each other.

            "Oliver," Hermione started.  They had gotten to know each other pretty well since they had been spending so much time together, and she liked his company, but…

            "I don't really want to keep doing this," Oliver cut in abruptly.

            "Exactly," she replied.

            He started fumbling his words. "I mean, it's not like I don't like you…I mean, talking with you, but it's just that I can't keep doing this all year.  I mean, I'd still like to see you, talk with you, but just not like this."

            She bit back a laugh. "I understand, Oliver.  Mostly, anyways."

            "Okay," Oliver replied.

            "So what do we do next time?"

            Oliver looked down the hall.  Harry and Ron were walking oh-so-slowly towards them, trying to look innocent. 

            "What if we do something this time?"

            Hermione glanced down the hall and rolled her eyes, both annoyed and amused by Ron's ploy. "Huh?"

            Ron turned his head towards Harry but watched Oliver and Hermione out of the corner of his eye.

            "What do you think they're talking about?"

            "How stupid we look walking like snails down the hall," Harry replied sharply. "Ron, come on.  If anything's going to happen, it won't be when you're here."

            Ron grabbed Harry's sleeve as he started to walk faster. "Not yet, just wait till we pass them."

            Harry tugged his sleeve free. "Fine, but that's it.  Then we walk normally."

            "Shhh, I wanna hear what they're saying."


	11. Chapter 11 the end is near

As Ron and Harry got closer, Oliver stood up, away from the wall.  He knew what he was going to do was risky, especially since he didn't know what to do afterwards.  But he thought it would be worth it even if Hermione never spoke to him again.

            "Hermione," he said urgently, "Look at me."

            She obeyed out of surprise, her large eyes wide with confusion.  _She has nice eyes. Oliver thought absently.  Ron and Harry were only a few yards away.  Now only a yard.  __Perfect._

            Oliver leaned down and planted a soft kiss on Hermione's lips just as Ron looked at them directly.  

            _He's kissing me! was all that raged through Hermione's confused, embarrassed and very happy mind.  She didn't pull away, didn't push forward, just let him end the kiss a second later._

            Oliver smiled, hesitantly. "Um…"

            "Wow," Hermione said. "My first kiss."

            "Really?" he asked, clinging desperately to the fact that she wasn't mad at him.

            Ron and Harry had both stopped a few feet away, discretion forgotten.

            Hermione looked at them quickly, then back at Oliver.  _My turn.  She smiled indulgently at Oliver and stood up on her toes to give him a kiss of her own.  He nearly fell over, literally. __Oops, guess I leaned a little too far over._

_            "Hermione?" Ron asked squeakily._

            "Oliver?" Harry found his voice a second later.

            "See, I told you it would work," Ron hissed.

            "Your note scheme?" Oliver asked, trying to sort out his own happily confused brain.

            "What note scheme?" Ron asked.

            "Ron," Hermione said. "Stop trying to trick us."

            "Oh," Ron leered, "So you're an 'us' now."

            "Yes," Hermione replied, surprising herself and everyone else, "We are."

            "Oliver?" Harry asked again.

            "Um…yes, we are," Oliver repeated.

            "Oh."

            Hermione grinned at Ron's incredulous look. "So, Ron, I guess I'll see you later."

            Ron got the hint.  Reluctantly, he started walking away. "Yeah, see you later."

            As soon as Ron and Harry disappeared around the corner, they could hear laughter ringing in the hall behind them.

            "That's rather rude of them," Ron protested.

            "Come on, Ron," Harry replied with a grin. "You got what you wanted didn't you?  A little laughter shouldn't dampen your success too much.  Even though they knew what you were doing the whole time."

            Ron's mouth fell open. "They did not!"

            "Yes they did, and stop denying it," Harry said quickly before Ron could protest again. "Now come on, let's go."

            When the soft sound of Harry and Ron's footsteps faded away, Oliver and Hermione turned to each other, an awkward silence between them.  Oliver bit his lower lip nervously and Hermione blushed, remembering what it felt like to kiss him.

            "Are we an us?" Oliver asked uneasily.

            She fidgeted, her eyes passing quickly over his face, not focusing on him when she replied. "I don't know."

            His hands gripped her shoulders and she looked up at him, momentarily startled. "Hermione…"

            "Are you going to ask me that question again?" she replied quietly.

            Oliver nodded. "And I would like a different answer.  Like 'yes' or 'no.'"

            She swallowed and the hard look in his eyes softened. "I…Oliver…"

            "Yes or no, Hermione?" he asked again, delivering his ultimatum quietly.

Author's Note: Ending coming soon…I hope. 


	12. Chapter 12 The End

Hermione wanted desperately to say 'yes,' but the 'what ifs' were raging through her head. _What if he doesn't like me and I make a fool of myself?  What if he does like me?  What if I say yes and then I'm a horrible girlfriend?  What if he's a horrible boyfriend?  What if I say 'yes' and we just stand in silence for an uncomfortably long period of time?  What if I seriously screw up whatever semblance of a friendship I have with him?  What if -?_

_            She could have smacked herself.  Her sometimes way-too-smart brain would not shut up. __ Let me live! she yelled in her mind._

            She looked up at Oliver again, somehow managing to keep from shaking with nervousness. "I don't know," slipped out before she could stop it.  Before Oliver could say anything she cut in. "Oliver, I know you wanted a better answer, and I have a better answer, I swear, but I just don't know what to say."

            He moved away from her slowly, almost reluctantly. "Maybe I should just come back when you have an answer."

            He hadn't meant to sound so cold, but he desperately wanted to have a decision that wasn't his to make.  He was tired of having to make all of the decisions in his life.  As Quidditch captain, he had to think of the strategies that were supposed to be used in the games that were played.  For once, he wanted the final word to rest on someone else.

            "Oliver – " Hermione started painfully.  Then she sighed, heavily, and he knew she was thinking hard of what to say.  This was something serious for her and she treated it as if it were a pop test in one of her classes.

            "Um…" she went on, trying to keep talking without giving an answer to his ultimatum. "God, this is uncomfortable," she muttered to herself.  She wanted to do one of two things at that moment: a) run away screaming to go hide somewhere or b) say yes and hopefully be happy.

            "Um…yes?" it came out as a question, a confused hope-laden question to Hermione's ears.  

            "Good," was the only thing Oliver could think of to say.

            "Good?" Hermione echoed, her head clearing now that she had gotten rid of about half of the what-ifs. "Is that all you can say?"

            Oliver grinned. "What else should I say?"

            She shrugged, relieved that _he had not run away screaming to go hide somewhere. "Yes or no, Oliver," she said, aware of the slightly mocking lilt in her tone._

            "What do you think?" he asked in reply.

            "I'm thinking that I want to hear it from _you," she said, "Not from a guess in my own head."_

            Oliver was a little taken aback by the forcefulness in her voice.  He had known Hermione to be both smart and a strict rule-follower who was willing to give anyone an earful if they stepped out of line, but at the same time, she had always been – for the most part, quiet.

            He paused, letting a hint of a smile cross his lips before replying. "Well…yes."

            She settled back on her heels, satisfied, but still apprehensive. "So…" Hermione said, just to keep a silence from settling over them.

            "Hmmm," came the reply.  Oliver had no clue what to say either, but at least he was trying.

            They haltingly started to walk back down the hall, not knowing where they were going.  Suddenly, Hermione stopped walking.  Oliver turned to her questioningly.

            "One thing," she said, remembering the plot that had gotten them to this point.

            "What?" Oliver asked.

            Hermione grinned mischievously. "Don't tell Ron."

The End

So that's it.  Sorry it took so long for me to get the last chapter up (all that time, and it still turned out to be short).  I didn't want Hermione to say no, 'cuz that wouldn't have been a very good ending to an Oliver/Hermione story and I didn't want to write a sequel.  So, Hermione had to say yes, but having her tearfully yelp "Yes!" would be far too mushy for me.  And it would sound too much like a marriage proposal.  I hope I didn't overdo it with the dialog, but I wanted it to feel kinda awkward…I felt it would be closer to real-life.  However, I have experienced nothing Hermione went through except for the having-a-crush part, so all the emotional parts with Oliver are guesses at what it _might_ be like.  

Wow, look at that really long Author's Note.  Anyhow, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this. ^_^   

And if someone's _reallllly_ unsatisfied with the ending, I can add something.  *prays that no one will be unsatisfied with the ending*


End file.
